


Of paths and constants

by trekkietracks



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trekkietracks/pseuds/trekkietracks
Summary: "Yeah, but me and you," the brunet winked, looking back into the blue eyes of the other, "we're what you scientists call 'constants.' You're a constant in my life, I'm a constant in yours."[where a question asked on a lazy morning opened up worlds of different beginnings]
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	1. a lazy morning in October

**Author's Note:**

> so guess who showed up again :)
> 
> i spent many MANY nights writing this so whoop! I do hope that whoever reads this enjoys it as much as I loved writing it! 💖💖

The soft foggy haze of October was melting away slowly to reveal the glowing orange sun as it burst out from the deep, bubbling sea below it. Soft rays of light hit barely open Azure eyes with such grace, that they were left blinking in awe as the morning bathed him in sunlight. He turned himself away from the open window, to the face of a man he knew; and loved, dearly.

The coral light was lighting up the black hair on his head, tangled and spilling onto his forehead. Soft, content snores were coming from the relaxed face of his, unmoving, at peace. Finally at peace. 

The azure eyes then moved to the hand wrapped tightly around his own, smaller than his, tanned and sleek. But still, holding onto his like it was dear life. Swung over him, was the other hand, curling around his neck, pulling them closer. 

His own hand, gently placed on the man's shoulder, shook it with the lightest of forces. 

"Mmmph?" a voice said, finally, from the sleeping face. "Illya?" It asked, incredulously, "why are you waking me up so early??" 

"I was just...well.. thinking." He breathed heavily as he murmured into the other man's ear. "How different would our lives be, if we never met?"

"What?" Murmured the black haired man, opening his eyes to reveal brown, with pupils blown wide. 

"Yeah, imagine if we'd never...met…" his softly accented voice rung in the empty room, met with only the lazy breaths of the man in love with him.

"We'd always find a way to meet." Brown eyes scoffed in disbelief, and sighed averting his eyes from the iron gripped gaze of the azure eyes.

"Yeah but, what if we didn't huh? If we never ever met, our paths -as you artists say- never crossed?" 

"Yeah, but me and you," the brunet winked, looking back into the blue eyes of the other, "we're what you scientists call 'constants.' You're a constant in my life, I'm a constant in yours."

"I don't believe that." Azure eyes, for the first time, blinking. He turned around to his other side, leaving the other man staring at his back. 

The other man smiled and then buried his face in the slender neck beside him, blonde and brunette, entwining together forever.

  
  



	2. one: a chilly october afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes met Napoleon's icy blue mixing with chocolate brown and he smiled. He could trust this man, something he hadn't done in a long while. This man wasn't judging him on his results, he wasn't judging him on how good he was with his mind, he was just...there…
> 
> And that made Illya feel safe.
> 
> And he could swear he'd seen those mischievous brown eyes before.
> 
> (Or, the one where there are kids.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! First chapter done! I spent way to long on this, so I hope you enjoy!! 💓

Napoleon Solo _hated_ children. Unfortunately he had a six year old of his own. 

He didn't even know of her existence until Monday evening, and today was Wednesday morning. 

The first time he'd been told about this, which was almost a week ago, he'd laughed it off. Pretended it was just some bad dream he'd had from one of his infamous hangovers from one of his exceedingly infamous parties. 

But the child swinging her legs and kicking his Porsche as he buckled himself in, was very _very_ real. As he glanced at her between red lights, he could almost see himself in her. She had his wide, deep brown eyes and his annoyingly mussed hair, hanging around her head in little ringlets. 

He smiled, slightly amused at her as she was looking out of the open window, slightly sticking her hand out as she traced the world around it. 

One day. 

One day, that was all her mother had allowed him, Amanda had given him one day to see his daughter and he wasn't going to undermine her by not making this day the best day of her life. And so he'd gone on a strop and flown in, to New York to meet his... family.

For her sixth birthday, Elena wanted to go to the museum. A disappointment to her father as he met her for the first time, wanting to take her out with her friends on a spin in his limousine. When he said he had a limousine, she just stared at him with those wide eyes of his and asked him "if he'd ever been six before."

He just gave a tight smile and called up a rental car and groaned as a Porsche arrived. The museum? He didn't have a plan for this? He was never used to not having a plan, not being prepared. Everyone listened to him. His command brought everyone working under him in line, he wasn't used to getting thrown off track by a snarky six year old.

From that moment on, he didn't want anything to do with her. He was fully convinced that children were demons who had to be contained. But nearing the museum, every turning he sighed a little as she kept pointing out the places in a rush. So this is what parenting felt like. For a moment he was almost sorry for Amanda, how she took care of Elena on her own. _Almost._

The museum itself was a piece of art and Napoleon Solo loved- no, admired art. His eye was captured by the architectural design used in the columns. His attention was soon torn away from that when he felt a little hand in his suit tugging him down to a small high pitched voice.

"Look look look!" She gasped a little, still in awe of the room around her, "the dinosaurs are in the next room!" 

"Well uh….then- uh, let's uh…" he said, a small polite smile on his lips as he saw the pleading face below him. He crouched down below and his eyes met the brown ones of the little girl. The two mirrored each other in ways Napoleon was just starting to understand, but the moment was interrupted by the soft ring of his phone. 

"I'm gonna have to grab that, you go ahead honey, give me a shout if you need anything." He said, standing up and waving at her as she ran off. He gave a little laugh, a defeated little laugh; children had tiny legs, they looked hilarious as they scuttled off like that.

  
  


∆∆∆

  
  


Elena's face was right up against the glass wall of the exhibit. She was trying to read something inside the glass, but even standing on her tippy-toes couldn't give her a chance to see it. 

"It's a Pterosaur." A voice hinted from behind her, she spun around to see a boy, looking about her own age, maybe a year or so older, but almost a head taller than her. He was easily leaning over her and reading the display inside the walled interior. 

"Yeah, I know that." She retorted and turned back to trying to catch a glimpse over the glass.

"You know I can just read the thing out for you." He smiled back, the grin on his face growing by the second. 

"You suck!" She said, stomping off with a huff, her arms crossed. She then stopped to consider what he said, the boy was really annoying; but he was also willing to read out the display for her. 

"fINe! Read it out then." She said, abruptly turning back at him. 

"Oh NOW you want to know huh?" He said, but his eyes flicked over to the display, "Pterosaurs were the first reptiles to evolve into being able to fly." 

"So they were birds?"

" _No_ , dinosaurs weren't birds ya dingus." He smirked, looking rather smug with himself.

She clenched her jaw and glared at the boy in front of her,"I'm Elena" she said brightly, her mother had always taught her to be nice to others, including the annoying know-it-all she'd bumped into at the museum.

"Hey, I'm Kabir," he paused, Elena detected hesitation, "but most of my friends call me Kabs." He returned the gesture with a little intro of his own. "I'm here with my dad, he's somewhere around…" he peered around the room with his blue eyes, looking for someone. "Well he was somewhere around here."

"I'm here with my dad too." She said, turning around behind her, "but he got cut off with someone calling him."

"My dad's probably looking around the museum, did you know, he's a senior member here!"

"No, I didn't" she blurted out, "hey, since you're tall and I'm clever, ya wanna check out the rest of the museum with me?" a smirk now plastered on her face.

"I- I uh don't know, my dad told me to stay in this room…" he stuttered. 

"Oh who cares!" She smiled, mischief in those wide brown eyes of hers and she ran off into the next room, her new friend in tow.

  
  


∆∆∆

Illya Kuryakin was not having a good day. 

First it dawned on him that tomorrow was his son's seventh birthday and he wanted to go to the museum. Then he realised he had approximately three hours to; complete his research on photons in the university, race home, grab some coffee and pick up his son from his house.

The laser didn't return from the asteroid he'd pointed it at, so it had no data. He was out of petrol and had to grab a lift from his friend, who obviously didn't know the way he was going and _when_ he reached home, they were all out of coffee.

Illya Kuryakin was not, _definitely_ not having a good day.

And he was sure it was getting worse as he hastily hurried his way to the museum's information desk. Standing there, already was a man. Dressed impeccably in a suit and tie of extreme splendor, probably an investor or a high-ranking member of the society…

Speaking of the society, he was rather interested in taking his dinosaur obsessed son to the members-only exhibit. Maybe a friend if, _if_ his son ever made them. As for himself, Illya considered himself to be a loner with two PhDs, friends were a distant memory from the days when he actually had a life. 

A simple "Uh, hello?" uncomfortably yanked him back to reality and he feebly looked at the receptionist. "Oh uh yes," he started, "my son just went missing in the third room." 

"Ach you too?" A rich, American voice filled the space near his ear as it boomed into his head. Illya hoped that his eardrums weren't broken and turned to meet, nose to nose with the suited man he'd seen just seconds ago. 

"Uh, yes…" he cleared his throat, leaning back, keeping distance from this American. Obviously, they had no concept of personal space. "Ku-kuryakin." He stammered, "Illya Kuryakin, _doctor_ Illya Kuryakin."

"Oh hello doctor, Solo here," he smiled, a large, wide smile, "Napoleon Solo, yeah the business one," Napoleon saw the anxiousness in the Man's eyes and tried to lighten the mood, "So tell me all about it, kids these days." He sighed a little as he sunk into the chair next to him, gesturing Illya to do the same. Illya felt a pang of companionship for him.”I've had mine for a day and she gets worse with every hour."

Illya didn't want to know what the other man meant by having his child for ‘a day’, but not willing to open that door, he started talking about his own; "My son's seven today," he paused, he felt a little bad for all this mess to be happening on his son's birthday, something he'd tried his best every year to make special.

"Oh really, mine's six today!" He said, with a hint of amusement. Illya looked at him, how could one be so carefree if their own child is lost? Keeping his opinions to himself, he waited patiently until the help-desk was calling out his announcement.

In his ear, there was a constant commentary by the American, to which he replied with small polite smiles. Although they really didn't know when to stop, Illya quite liked the sound of his voice. Illya stopped short with his train of thought and thought about the man. 

With a suit and a face like that, he was quite the charmer, charming both ladies and lads alike. At least that's what Illya thought. But the American, he couldn't be into Illya, he seemed more of a ladies man. 

Illya kept those thoughts away, and dealt with the more pressing matter on hand, like his missing son. 

"I- I can't help but notice, you're really worried about your son." Smiled the man, still next to him.

"Well yeah, he's the only thing I have…" Illya sighed, this wasn't a good time to talk about all these things he'd packed away. This wasn't a good place to talk about them, nor was this American the right person… but there was just _something_ about him which made Illya feel kinship with this man. 

Illya felt like he could just talk and talk with this man and never want to end. Never want to stop revealing more and more of himself as the short amount of time they had together quickly started to end. _Not now,_ he mentally noted, his son was in danger and he couldn't sit and watch. So he sighed and leaned over to the American, and started some smalltalk, while they were both waiting.

∆∆∆

"Your daughter was the bad influence here." Illya smiled as his son ran back into his arms. He was met with Napoleon's mock horror on his face, "My daughter? My very own Elena? Outrageous!" 

"I mean...I did ask him to come along daddy…" she said, shyly, eyes peeking out from under her dark-haired fringe.

"She looks like you," Illya smiled as he straightened up from the hug he'd given, his eyes flicked over Napoleon and then Elena. 

"Yeah genius, she's my daughter. Y- you know, if you keep up the keen observational power and you'll become a spy one day." Napoleon scoffed back.

"Gee thanks," Illya grumbled as he turned towards the exit, Kabir in tow. 

As Illya started to leave, Napoleon felt a pang of... _something_ and couldn't quite let go of him just yet…

"I- I uh never asked, why is he called Kabir?" Napoleon asked, waving his hand around, in ways he did in when he presented slides in meetings.

"His mom wanted to keep things traditional." Illya gave a curt smile and kept on walking, Napoleon sighed as his head sunk down a little. He thought... thought that maybe… possibly… this man might be interested in…

No obviously not, what was Napoleon thinking? He'd just put Elena in the car and drive up to Amanda where he'd ring the doorbell and vanish before she'd open the door. 

That's who he was, someone who left. Who always left. Who vanished into thin air, making other people clean up the mess he left.

"Hey Kabir?" He heard a little voice call out, a little high voice he'd grown to love today.

"Yeah?" He heard a small muffle speak back, from somewhere in the crowd.

"Remember that cake you were telling me about???" The first voice called out, her smile growing by the second, Napoleon could almost forgive the grammar mistake. _Almost_.

"Yeah??" 

"I would like that now, thank you very much!" 

He heard a groan, and then a small plea to his father, and soon enough Kabir was dragging his father back in the direction of the two people, standing, waiting, hoping.

Napoleon smiled as he saw them coming, his heart fluttering inside his chest, the worms in his stomach now turned to butterflies. He saw how much Kabir looked like his father, even with the differences.

"Museum food costs a ton," Illya exhaled, looking down at his son, his footsteps faltering reaching the two.

His eyes met Napoleon's.

With the icy blue mixing with chocolate brown, he smiled. He could _trust_ this man, something he hadn't done in a long while. This man wasn't judging him on his results, he wasn't judging him on how good he was with his mind, he was just...there…

And that made Illya feel safe.

And he could swear he'd seen those mischievous brown eyes before.

"Eh, don't worry 'bout that, Cake's on me everyone!" Napoleon said excitedly, breaking the warm connection he'd had with Illya for a few seconds, "and anyway, we've got a lot of exploring to do, you and I." 

Illya could feel himself blush as the mocha eyes locked onto his own self one more time. He stepped closer to Napoleon, so close that their noses brushed against each other. So close that each man could feel the other's breath, could hear the other's heart thudding inside. 

"Are they gonna get married???" Kabir hissed to Elena, backing away from both the dads, 

"I refuse to be a know-it-all's sad, dumb sister!" Elena growled back as she held onto his hand and let him pull her towards the cafe. 

"Hey don't worry, if we become siblings, I'll tutor you for free." He laughed as their eyes flicked back to the two men, who had already apparently forgotten about them, and were looking at cakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, leave a kudo! ( And maybe a suggestion for the next chapter, I need more AUs!)


	3. two: a hot April's afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon gasped in mock horror, he was going to enjoy this holiday. Sometimes you meet the best people by accident...although he was sure he’d seen those icy cold eyes before somewhere...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just two guys meeting in a park. Yknow boring stuff I only dream of now because of covid
> 
> I hope you enjoy ! 💕💕

The dusty draught blew past the blonde's face, drying his eyes and his throat. Yet he loved to just pause a few moments, and take it all in. His hair was mussed, ruffled by the unforgiving gust and yet his blue eyes still felt unrelentingly perky.

He'd been sitting on this ledge for the past hour or so, watching the butterflies flutter from one blade of grass to another. He loved to hear the birds chirping, whistling, calling out to him. But what he loved most of all, was the still, calm of the place. The absence of something, which he didn't need anyway.

He'd been studying his notes for the past twenty minutes now, the last of the sunlight filtering through the trees above him. He felt at home here, his personal little "absolute zero."

Where all his molecules, all his atoms would come to a stop, and just think. Just be. Leave whatever was happening in civilization and escape here.

Here, a high hill locked away in a large park, facing the constantly growing, urban town. He did like modernization, heck where would he be without itz but the man always had been taught to have a place just for himself, away from the outside world.

"You must always adapt for the things that surround you, if you don't then you will be left behind, like a sandwich, past its sell-by date." That's what he distinctly remembers his grandmother telling him, "But Illyusha, you never change the things about you that make you you. Keep some humanity left in those cold blue eyes of yours." 

His grandmother had been the last remaining link between himself and his family. He still remembers the last time he wandered through the snowy streets of St Petersburg, the last time he trudged through those icy, grassy gardens, the last time he felt the snowflakes fall upon his face like fresh drops of dew. His grandmother was the last bridge he had between himself and home, and when she died…

Well, Illya just had to get a new one.

  
∆∆∆

  
He wasn't even a part of this town. He didn't even live here; want to live here. And yet here he was, on a quaint little bike he'd rented, cycling down a quaint little hill in this quaint little suburbian park.

That's what this whole place was, an idyll for nearly everyone. The town had a sense of calm, an inane tranquility to itself, one that Napoleon loved. 

A perfect place for someone like Napoleon Solo to enjoy. Leave his business life and come here, for shore leave. 

So that's how he found himself checking out a ticket for London, England and then getting in a taxi to his vacation. The roads were narrow and meandering; although fairly bumpy, Napoleon was captivated by the enthralling country view. 

He was also staring in awe of the taxi driver, she'd known these thousands of little roads, like the back of her hand. And could hold a whole conversation with Napoleon, all at once.

He was out to enjoy this holiday, not wreck it with his philandering or his partying. Maybe grabbing a bite of this English culture he’d plunged himself into.

∆∆∆

  
Illya heard the swearing first, and then the crash. The metallic spring sounded like it fell down some shallow ditch. 

More swearing.

  
Illya couldn't help but let out a small smile, some absolute dumbass had probably ridden down the hill, and fallen down, ignoring the massive ‘NO CYCLING’ sign. He eased himself up from his calm, eyes being torn away from the pale blue sky which housed the fluffy clouds he was absently staring at, and ambled over to the edge of the hill. He saw a white vintage bike, battered and muddy, having fallen into a ditch; and a brunette rubbing their head, perfectly set hair dishevelling by the moment. 

He must have made a sound, because the brunette whipped his head around, meeting Illya’s sharp, blue eyes with clouded brown ones of his own. Over the hill’s short drop and the rustling of the dry grass swaying in the wind, the brunette dropped a little “ow!” followed by a groan. 

The blue eyed man felt himself getting hotter, his cheeks reddening with the rush of blood flowing to them. He could swear he was arguing with his colleagues the other day about the nonexistence of love at first sight, yet here he was, his icy heart melting in a puddle from the warmth of the chocolatey brown eyes a couple of meters away from him. He straightened up and began walking down the steep hill, eyes not leaving the wrecked bike and the person inside. 

“Here,” he coughed, the pollen watering his eyes, “grab my hand.” The man extended his arm to the older one, who took it willingly, with a nod. Illya pulled, hard, yanking the man out of this ditch. 

  
“Thanks…” The man smiled, his eyes still slightly dazed, his hand still not leaving Illya’s.

“Don’t worry about it,” Illya’s russian accented voice faltered, as he saw the expression on the man’s unreadable face change.

“You’re not from around these parts?” He smiled, his american accent heavy this time round, his question sounding more like an unsure statement.

  
“No, not really…” Illya smiled, “Illya, Kuryakin… Dr Illya Kuryakin.”

“Doctor..? Aren’t you a bit too young for that?” The american said, playing with his own hair, ruffling through it.

“No mate, I’m turning thirty in three days,” Illya smiled again, it felt weird. He’d never opened up this much to a stranger, a stranger who he knew nothing about. 

The man stopped walking, like he’d caught a loose thought in Illya’s head, “Napoleon, Solo” he smiled, and somehow that made Illya feel slightly better.

  
“Anyway, I’ve gotta get you a thank-you gift now,” Napoleon smiled as he hauled his bike up to a stand, “for getting me out...of that hole,” he grinned at his own immature joke, “and for turning thirty.”

  
Illya smirked back, and gave out an exasperated sigh, “Let’s fix this bike first,” he said, gesturing to the muddied and wrecked bike, tangled in weeds, “and then you next.”

  
Napoleon gasped in mock horror, he was going to enjoy this holiday. Sometimes you meet the best people by accident...although he was sure he’d seen those icy cold eyes before somewhere...

He blinked the thought away and dragged his bike through the dry grass, the golden stems tangling with the dark, oil slicked spokes of his busted up bike. The warming gust of wind blew through his hair and he felt giddy and warm inside. Oh he was going to enjoy this holiday _very much indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hoped it'd be longer rIP.  
> homework is absolutely killing me so my updates are a little (very) sluggish 🤡 :P  
> anyway, I hope you liked this ! Leave a kudo (or a comment, they make my day ❤️ )

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it, leave a kudo! ❤️
> 
> or perhaps a comment (i love reading what y'all think 💖💖)


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